


Surrendering in small steps

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Gay Bar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes surrender is enevitable. All it needs is motive...method...and opportunity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrendering in small steps

It had seemed such simple idea. Follow their suspect to the gay bar, monitor his activity, see who he met and report back to Lestrade.

Even if Sherlock had come out of his bedroom in leather trousers so tight they may as well have been painted on and a blood red shirt that looked, and he now knew _felt_ like some buttery soft peach-cloth material, John had thought he could hold it together.

Even when his stomach did a rather alarming clench and swoop as Sherlock turned to walk down the stairs and John caught sight of the way the leather cupped the ridiculously perfect cheeks of his arse, John thought _It's OK...I've GOT this._

Even as Sherlock lounged against the bar, a scotch glass in one hand and the other pressed _ever so gently_ against the small of John's back in an unmistakable signal to everyone in the room that he wasn't available. With John's breath a little too short, and his heartbeat a little too high, John still thought there was a chance he could get out of there with his dignity...and his underwear...intact.

He started to have serious doubts when Sherlock led him to the dance-floor, ostensibly to allow them to eavesdrop on their suspect, now sequestered in a corner booth off to one side.

The doubts grew as Sherlock reached fingers to wrap in the fabric at John's waist, keeping him close and turning him as Sherlock followed their suspect's movements over John's shoulder, reading his lips with practiced ease.

He knew he was in trouble when Sherlock's eyes widened and he sucked in a short breath before suddenly burying his head in the crook of John's shoulder, muttering "He nearly spotted me."

John knew it was a mistake to raise a hand and cover some of Sherlock's distinctive curls with it, forcing the detective's head more firmly against his neck where the hot breath rushed like warm water down the neck of his shirt and down his chest.

It had also been a mistake to so blatantly tilt his head in clear invitation for Sherlock to turn his head and place burning kisses against his neck where his thundering pulse hammered in the artery.

He suspected he was doomed as Sherlock's arms eased around him, pulling them together and Sherlock seemed to melt against him like chocolate left too long in the sun.

His suspicions grew when his own hand found it's way to the small of Sherlock's back and banished the last of the space between their pelvises.

He KNEW he has doomed when one of them groaned at the feel of matching hardness pressed between them, and it took John long seconds....too long...to realise it had been him.

The last of his resolve broke as Sherlock took his hand and guided him down a hallway marked 'staff only' and picked the lock to a disused office, the suspect forgotten.

As Sherlock turned the handle, John left the last of his doubts in the hallway and pushed the taller man inside, closing the door behind them.


End file.
